


As the Earth to the Sun

by onlyifyourun



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: (kinda), Canon Divergence, Internalized Homophobia, John Marston is the gay cowboy we deserve, John struggles with his feelings, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Time Skips, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love, no TB to be seen here, very brief mention of arthur/mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-21 02:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyifyourun/pseuds/onlyifyourun
Summary: "Must've drank a lot of painJudging by the way it aches"- Healed"He is only fifteen but the feeling is already an old friend of his and, still, he doesn’t quite understand it and doesn’t know how to be rid of it. Sometimes he feels like, if he could just touch Arthur in moments like this, curl his body against the solid figure of the other man, then everything would be fine.Other times he feels like he should run in the other direction and never come back."





	1. the air I tasted and breathed

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don't even know how this story came to light, I just started dumping all my John feels into it and suddenly I was Frankenstein crying 'ITS ALIVE'
> 
> Somewhat inspired by the fic The Braithwaite Secret's writing style.

John turns on his side, letting his sights fall on the other man resting inside the tent. They are camping a little ways outside of Valentine. Arthur had decided it was best to save the money they would have spent renting a room in the town. John agrees, not necessarily for the money but because there’s something comforting about sleeping on the ground with only a layer of canvas separating them from the stars above.  


And there's the fact that, this way he can turn his head and see Arthur at a touching distance.  


Whenever they rent a room, one of them gets the bed and the other sleeps on a bedroll on the floor, so, not nearly as close. His eyes look over the sleeping man. Arthur is laying on his back and has his hat covering his face, which is a little disappointing because the only time John gets to properly admire his face from this close without getting caught is when the man is asleep.  


So, he lets his gaze wander further down at the rising and falling of Arthur’s chest as he snores softly. John loves finding small moments of softness in the other man. At first glance you would think there aren’t many, with Arthur doing his best to look gruff and unapproachable, but there are many and John’s been collecting them in his memory. The gentle touch of Arthur’s hand over his when the older man is teaching him to write, the way his lips raise a little at the corner like he’s fighting a smile when John says or does something silly, the small crease of concentration on his forehead when he is scribbling in that journal of his. They are infinite and John tries not to miss any.  


As his eyes keep following the shape of the man in front of him, he starts feeling a familiar sensation at the bottom of his stomach. He closes his eyes against It, wills it to go away, but he is not strong enough and soon he is watching again, mind and body hungry.  


He is only fifteen but the feeling is already an old friend of his and, still, he doesn’t quite understand it and doesn’t know how to be rid of it. Sometimes he feels like, if he could just touch Arthur in moments like this, curl his body against the solid figure of the other man, than everything would be fine.  


Other times he feels like he should run in the other direction and never come back.  


Now is one of the times when all he wants is to reach over to feel the warmth emanating from Arthur with his bare hands. To trace his fingers over the line of his jaw and find out what his stubble feels like scratching his skin.  


John is not a particularly curious person. He prefers to mind his own and stay out of other people’s business. Therefore, he doesn’t understand where this twisted curiosity comes from. All he knows is that it leaves him feeling ashamed and wrong, and yet, he doesn’t seem able to shake it.  


Arthur mutters something in his sleep and rolls over in John’s direction, startling the boy.  


Even as his heart jumps in fear, his mouth dries with thirst and he wants to get even closer. Suddenly terrified he might do something bad, even though he is not sure what, John crawls out of the tent, taking his bedroll with him as silently as possible. He lays down outside, trying to distract his mind by tracing the stars with his eyes and banishes thoughts of tracing other things. He doesn’t sleep for hours.  


But in the morning, they both rise before dawn and Arthur tells him they aren’t in a rush to go back. So they hitch their horses at the bottom of a hill nearby and walk together to the top to watch the sun rise - a morning ritual they will repeat many times in the future. 

John feels a quietness he rarely experiences these days and, when he looks over, Arthur is contemplating the view with a serene look on his face. That look threatens to disrupt John’s inner peace again but he finds he doesn’t care.

* * *

Arthur hasn’t been at camp for a couple of days and John is getting antsy. He knows that when Arthur stays away for any considerable amount of time he is either working on something for Dutch or he’s gone to see Mary Gillis.

But John knows that Arthur isn’t away on some job because he asked Hosea, after managing to hold off the restless feeling in his gut for a whole day. 

So that leaves only the other option and that is why John’s been pacing back and forth along the lake shore for a while now. He is supposed to be fishing, or at least that is the excuse he gave for leaving camp. The truth is he just couldn’t stand to sit any longer in his tent, staring at the camp entrance, waiting for the familiar sound of hooves. 

It is times like this that John struggles to understand himself. He doesn't comprehend this anxious reaction his body seems to have over the thought of Arthur being away somewhere with Mary. He knows that part of it is because he is used to having Arthur around and feels lonely without him. But it doesn’t explain the cold twisting dread in his belly. If he dwells on it too much, his eyes actually start to sting and that just won’t do, so he normally avoids thinking about it. 

But right now it is all he can think about. 

_It’s been days. What does this woman has to offer that is enough to keep Arthur away for so long?_ , he thinks. Rationally, John knows what women have to offer men, he sees it in the eyes and smirks of the menfolk at the camp whenever they get a respite in the work load long enough to allow a trip to the parlor houses. But none of them ever spent days away on that matter. 

John supposes Mary is not like the kind of women you would normally see in these parts. John himself has to admit she is more beautiful than most women he’s seen, even though he doesn’t particularly pay attention to that sort of thing. But maybe that is what is wrong with him, something he is missing, which doesn’t allow him to comprehend. 

But seeing as it makes him nervous to think about that, he tries to ignore his distressed thoughts and to actually focus on the task at hand. 

He grimaces at the fishing rod. He hates fishing. 

  


In the end, John didn’t need to worry. The reason Arthur was away longer than usual is because he was on a bender, licking the wounds Mary left after returning his ring and wishing him a good life, for she was going to marry another man.

Personally, John thinks she can’t be all that great if she would turn Arthur away for some other feller. But he is too busy being relieved to voice any of his thoughts. 

Seeing Arthur returning to camp looking dejected and hungover puts a damper on his excitement, though. So John does his best to cheer the man up. He sits next to Arthur’s cot while the other draws in his journal in a broody manner. John pulls one of Arthur’s favorite books from the pile on the table next to the cot and starts reading aloud. 

At first it gets no reaction from the man, but then John starts making funny voices for every character and reads with over the top dramatics. Soon, he sees one of the corners of Arthur’s lips twitch and he knows he won. He keeps at it until Arthur plucks the book from his hands and pretends to hit John over the head with it, calling him a menace to mankind, but he is chuckling so John doesn’t mind. 

Testing his luck, he gets up from the floor and sits stiffly on the corner of the cot, next to Arthur’s feet. When that doesn’t get any reaction other than Arthur going back to his journal, this time smiling and shaking his head, John relaxes his body and pulls his feet up to hug his knees and turns his face to watch Arthur. 

Arthur looks at him over the top of his journal with a raised eyebrow as if saying _Well, ain’t you got nothing better to do than stare at me?_

John knows the answer to that, but he doesn’t want to ruin this precious chance to be close, so he says nothing and Arthur goes back to drawing, stealing glances at John every now and then. 

* * *

It has been so many years since he remember being alone with Arthur that it takes him awhile to realize there’s no one else in the room with them. Or maybe it is the fever making him sluggish and slow. 

Regardless, here he lays on a bed with his face on fire and his sights blurry and Arthur is sitting on a chair not too far away. Not close enough to touch either, but at this point John isn’t picky. 

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any dumber.” Arthur says in the gruff way he’s come to address John over the last few years. 

And as usual, John feels the mix of hurt and resentment at being treated like this by Arthur. No matter how long ago their relationship took a turn, it is like John is perpetually caught off guard by Arthur’s hostility. 

“Don’t start, Arthur.” He grunts, tired and in pain. 

Surprisingly Arthur doesn’t respond with his usual vitriol, just grunts a “Sure.” back like he needs the last word and tips his hat over his face as if he is going to take a nap right there sitting up on the chair. Which, considering the silence that follows, maybe he really is going to. Bewildered that Arthur would choose to spend any amount of time in his presence, John just stares blearily for a long moment before exhausting makes him close his eyes. 

When he opens his eyes again, he can see that a considerable amount of time has passed by the change in the light filtered through the tent canvas. He is alone but as he moves his hands, he feels a sheet of paper resting on his chest. He picks it up and blinks at it a few times until the picture comes into focus. 

It is a drawing of the sun rise from the perspective of someone standing on a high peak. The view is familiar, from the vegetation covering the top of the hill to the position of the sun in the distance. He has dreamed of the sunrise many times in the last few years. 

He doesn’t know what Arthur wanted to achieve with this gesture. Probably wanted to make him feel better, like they used to do for each other when one of them was in a bad way. And that alone should fill John with warmth. But all he feels is the same old regret that follows him everywhere.


	2. so why do I sear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now I've laid the ghost  
> Of what I hate the most"  
> \- Healed  
> 

If there was ever an armistice between them it seemed to have been lifted as soon as John leaves his sickbed. 

It is a few months later and they are at each other’s throats again. Or, as far as John can tell, it is just Arthur overreacting to every perceived slight, be it known to John or not. 

However, this particular time, the slight is very much known to John, seeing as they have had this discussion many times before. 

“It is about time you learn to hunt for yourself. Don’t forget you have a kid to provide for.” 

They are tearing down their small camp, preparing to go back with the food they gathered. John let Arthur take the lead when they were hunting in hopes to avoid any avoidable friction between them, But know he is regretting that. 

John wants to say that he survived a whole year by himself and that if he didn’t know how to hunt, he would have been dead by now. But John being John, he instinctively goes for the argument most likely to end badly. 

“He ain’t my kid,” he mutters.  


Arthur let’s out a frustrated noise and stows his rifle in his horse saddle in an angry manner that makes his mare whinny softly and shake her head.  


“This again?”  


And suddenly John is filled simultaneously with fury and exhaustion. 

“Damn right ‘this again’. Unless you believe in the immaculate conception, then there ain’t no way that boy is mine.” John feels his face heating up with anger and embarrassment as Arthur’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.  


“You’re saying. You never...?" 

Shame makes him look away and start gathering his things. Best they leave soon anyway.  


Arthur doesn’t need to end the sentence and John doesn’t need to answer.  


_No, he has never._  


_God_. Like he needs Arthur thinking any less of him.  


He isn’t saying anything incriminating in so many words. But he knows how it sounds that a man would have a willing woman in his bed and not take advantage of that. The way Arthur is still silent at his back tells him that maybe he knows how that sounds too. 

_Can’t hunt, can’t even sleep with a woman. What are you even good for? Are you even a man?_  


Arthur is still silent but the imitation of his voice in John’s head sounds real enough.  


“But why would she say Jack’s yours?” Arthur sounds perplexed, like _that_ is the most shocking part of what John just said.  


“Because the boy needs a father and she knows none of the other men would ever bother with that. Although, I don’t know why she would think I’m any better.” _That is what I get for being kind_ , he thinks at the same time he chastises himself for being unfair. He knows Abigail was just as kind to him as he was in return, which is much more than he deserves. It is just hard to stay fair when he feels like his life is being turned upside down.  


The worst part is that he suspects Abigail actually believes the child is his, or at least, wants to believe so badly, it doesn't matter if she doesn't know for sure. He knows they have spent enough drunken nights together in his tent for her to have cause to imagine something else could have happened between them. He remembers a couple of times when they woke up the next morning hungover and stripped down to a minimum of clothing and she would look at him sheepishly while gathering her clothes. And John would always fail to mention that the reason they were wearing so little was because of the summer heat, made worse by the whisky. He would let her believe for his own benefit, more than her own.  


But now, he doesn’t know how to tell her that it is just not possible, that he is just not built like that. At least, he doesn't know how to tell her without ruining everything. 

He risks a quick glance at Arthur but the man has his head tipped down, the brim of his hat covering most of his face and a hand over his mouth covering the rest.  


“But this... being a father to her boy?” He finds he can’t stop talking now that he started. “I didn’t agree to this. I- I can’t. I’m not a father. The only father I knew has been dead for so long I don’t even remember his face”  


He is aware he sounds like a boy himself. And that is his perpetual curse. Every time he wants to prove to Arthur that he is a man, he ends up looking like anything but.  


“John,” there’s something in the other man’s voice that John can’t identify but is probably pity, so he doesn’t let him finish.  


“Look, I ain’t talking about this now. We need to take these rabbits to Pearson before they start going bad. Last time something like that happened, I couldn’t wash the smell off my horse for days.” He is already climbing on his horse before Arthur can even start to recover from the shift in the conversation.  


When John looks at Arthur he is staring at him with his hand halfway raised in John’s direction, as if he wants to stop him or calm him like he is a spooked horse. But after a beat of silence, he brings that hand to his own face, rubs at his mouth and lets out a sigh, like he doesn't know what to say.  


John supposes he should count his blessings that the worst that could happen is Arthur being speechless.

“I’ll go ahead. You don’t worry about these, I’ll get them to camp.” John says.  


_You go do whatever it is you do when you are not in camp and I don’t see you for days_ , he wants to say but doesn’t.  


Without looking back, John commands his horse to canter away and starts a punishing pace back to camp.  


* * *

Unless it is about robbing something, they don’t speak to each other after that. Arthur, instead, has taken to watching John from a distance with an unreadable look on his face. And the feeling of being constantly evaluated, like his every move is being judged, is enough to drive John up the walls. The only reason he doesn’t confront the older man is because he is afraid of what Arthur might do.  


He knows Arthur enough to be certain that he wouldn’t spill his secret and risk John’s reputation but he doesn’t want to dwell on what Arthur is pondering every time he looks at John. There are very few people whose opinion John cares about, and Arthur is definitely one of them, so John prefers to remain ignorant to Arthur’s current thoughts about him. All he can do is endure the scrutiny and regret the day he ever opened his mouth.  


It is a little while later that John is confronted with other demons, this time by Abigail. But different from the other occasions she approached the subject of Jack, this time she does it by accident.  


It is early in the day when John, smoking by the trees at the back of the camp, hears what sounds like someone crying. Usually in their type of accommodations, one tries to give others the best version of privacy you can get living in tents a few feet apart from each other. However, he recognizes the voice and, to hear Abigail crying so profusely, stuns him, seeing as she always seems tougher than most of the men he knows.  


Besides, no matter what he says, he cares about Abigail. She is the only person who tried to understand John when even himself couldn’t. She never questioned why he wasn’t as eager as the other men to warm her bed, but accepted the comfort of his company and offered it right back, as innocent as that comfort was.  


It is just that John has the distinct talent to turn every sweet thing in his life sour.  


John extinguishes his smoke on the sole of his boot and makes his way warily to Abigail’s tent.  


He stops outside and clears his throat.  


The crying stops.  


“I’m getting dressed. I’ll be out in a minute.” She is trying to sound composed but he can hear the lie in her voice.  


John scratches at his freshly healed scars and takes a deep breath.  


“It’s me.”  


“Oh,” her tone changes to one of distrust and John knows he deserves that. “What is it, John?”  


“Can I come in?”  


“Well... Sure, I suppose.”  


He can see she tried to dry her tears but her eyes are red and her cheeks are blotchy.  


John very acutely feels like utter shit.  


He sits down heavily on the ground and lets out a tired sight, feeling exhausted all of a sudden. He feels all the weight of running around with his problems on his back and, all at once, he decides he can’t run anymore.  


“Where is Jack?” He asks, not seeing the boy.  


“Why do you care?” Abigail replies cautiously and, again, he reminds himself she is in her right.  


“Come on. If I’m asking is because I want to know.”  


She stares at him for a moment in an assessing way that, if were not for the gentleness that permeates most of her interactions with him, it would remind him of the way Arthur looks at him nowadays and, as such, John tries not to cower in fear of being found wanting.  


“Jack is with Hosea. He is giving the boy reading lessons.”  


Out of his own guilty conscience or born of real intent, he hears the accusation in her words.  


They look at each other for a while, neither knowing what to say. It used to be that they would spend hours together talking about nothing or with John reading aloud for her from one of the books they had around, the candle light their only company as they stayed awake well into the night.  
Sometimes they would sneak in some rum and drink until they were laughing too loud and shushing each other. A few of those times, John would look at her and think _Maybe I can love this girl like I’m meant to_. But the feeling never lasted through the hangover the next day, no matter how much he wanted it to.  


And now he can barely hold her gaze anymore. His eyes straying guiltily to her hands on her lap every time he tries.  


He wants to ask why she was crying but he probably already knows the answer.  


“I’ll teach him.” He blurts out.  


Abigail startles.  


“What?”  


“Hosea is too busy, I’ll teach the boy to read.” And as he says it, he feels a little bit of the weight leaving his back. He can almost breath normally now.  


Abigail is so grateful he is afraid she will start crying all over again. He feels like he is doing the right thing for the first time in a long while. He doesn’t feel like the boy is his, but this, at least, he can do. 

* * *

He can feel Arthur watching them as he sits with Jack at one of the tables and listens to the boy read from a book.  


“I could hear... their feet ratle-ling...”  


“Rattling.” John corrects.  


“ _Rattling_ up our old stairs...”  


He carries on and John corrects him here and there. John is by no means the most patient man, but Jack has something about him that makes you want to be careful around, as if not to sully him in any way. John would have credited that to him being so young and small, but he doesn’t ever remember looking so pure, even as a child. Although, he doesn’t really remember ever being a child in so many words, so maybe there’s that.  


Besides, the kid is actually really good at learning. Better than he ever was. John hardly has any reason to be impatient.  


Before he can contain himself, John chances a looks at Arthur out of the corner of his eye and catches him looking back. John startles enough to freeze and accidently hold his gaze. Neither of them averts their eyes and John experiences the old familiar feeling of the bottom of his stomach dropping out, like he is about to fly off his horse or like Arthur Morgan is looking at him with something other than hostility. He knows he should look away but he can’t. Suddenly he is as confused and afraid as his teenage self.  


Jack is the one to unknowingly save him by demanding his attention.  


“Look! Look!” He points at something on the page. John looks and sees what he means.  


“Yes, Jack, his name is the same as Mr Trelawney’s.”  


Jack laughs delighted and is hard not to chuckle at the display of innocence.  


“I like Mr Trelawney.” Jack announces.  


“Sure, kid.” John, who’s never been able to fully pin down the conman, allows as tactfully as he is able.  


He is so distracted by their exchange that he only sees Arthur when he pulls a chair across from him to join them at the table.  


John knows he must look like a wind could knock him over because he certainly feels that way. But Arthur isn’t looking his way, he is talking to Jack.  


“What are you reading?”  


“It’s about pirates!” Jacks shows him the book cover with clumsy child hands and when Arthur sees it, he makes a small noise of surprise and lifts his eyes to John, who looks away.  


The book was one of their favorite to read together a long time ago, when they still did that sort of thing.  


Mercifully, Arthur doesn’t say anything about that, just encourages Jack to continue reading and takes up John previous role. John doesn’t mind, he is too restless to focus on anything anyway.  


He just lets the sound of the child’s voice and Arthur’s occasional interruption, drown his racing thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, on a serious note, I'd like to address that I'm aware it is all sorts of messed up that Abigail would think it was normal to have sex while being drunk enough to forget it ever happened, but considering the context of her reality, I think this is the kind of thing that would be perceived as normal for her, unfortunately.  
> 
> 
> On the subject of Jack's parentage, from playing both games and from reading the tons of theories you can find online, it is pretty clear that rockstar intended to plant the seed of doubt regarding Jack' paternity (e.g. Dutch's line "we all had her, but he married her" and Javier teasing John with "did Abigail miss me?" both in rdr1, and in rdr2 the way John ran away because he didn't believe Jack was his, etc). And I think the reason for that is because they wanted to highlight John's character's growth, in that, when he accepts Jack as his son, it is not because he suddenly knows the kid is biologically his, but because he feels that is the right thing to do. The boy needs a father and John rises to the occasion because he becomes a better man, basically.  
>  Of course, in this story, I made it all the more impossible that John could be the father for the benefit of my gay cowboy trope but I think the principle of the thing remains lol  
>  I was both excited and scared of writing the parts concerning Abigail because it is kind of hard to write about a character you love and still disagree with them, without looking like you don't like them. But in the end, seeing as the whole unreliable narrator thing is one of my favorite allegories, it was fun to explore John's feelings towards Abigail through his emotionally convoluted lends.  
> 
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


	3. all five horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I'm healed when you love me like  
> You love me like that"  
> \- Healed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me realizing that all the breaks in the chapter start with John being asleep:  
> [arthur's voice]: lazy bastard
> 
>  
> 
> Mind the change in rating

The next morning, John wakes up from someone nudging his foot. He blinks up and sees a big silhouette being framed by the risen sun. 

“Come on, sleeping beauty,” Arthur says gruffly. “There’s work to be done.” 

And then he stalks away to his mare without another word, expecting John to jump up and follow. 

John groans but gets up. This is a version of Arthur that he is accustomed to. And he’s been needing to get out a bit. 

He splashes some clean water on his face and brushes his teeth quickly, wanting to be rid of the stale taste in his mouth but not risking Arthur growing restless and leaving him behind to do whatever job he has alone. 

By the time he mounts his own horse, Arthur already mounted and waiting by the trees leading out of camp with surprising patience, but John doesn’t push his luck and doesn’t wait any longer to ride to his side. 

“What is this job?” 

“Don’t concern yourself with that.” 

John weights his chances and decides to push just a little. 

“Don’t you think it’s better if I know what I’m doing?” 

“Now, John, when did you ever know what you were doing?” Arthur teases. 

Before he can think too hard, John snorts. 

“Guess you’re right.” He concedes. 

“I am right. So don’t worry your pretty head and just do as you’re told for once.” He says good-naturedly. 

Part of John wants to bristle at the condescending talk. _Slepping beauty_ , _pretty head_. But he can recognize an olive branch when he sees one. He doesn’t know why Arthur is abruptly being civil to him, but he suspects it has something to do with him getting closer to Jack. 

He knows Arthur has some sort of wish that John would live a family life, with a wife and kids and he knows that wish is rooted somewhat on the things that he’s lost in life. Knows that Arthur must look at Abigail and Jack and wonder why John would turn that opportunity down. 

John suspects that Arthur wouldn’t even see the fact that the child isn’t his as a setback. Probably would just be happy to have a family. 

And perhaps that is why they butt heads so often. They are too different, and Arthur doesn’t seem able to see that. 

They ride in silence except for a moment when Arthur reaches into his saddle bag and pulls out an apple. He rides alongside him and offers the fruit and John, not having had time to eat anything, takes it being mindful to not let their fingers brush more than necessary. He still isn’t completely sure how much Arthur picked up from their conversation in the woods, but he doesn’t want to make anything weird. Maybe Arthur is playing dumb for the sake of patching things up between them, which in that case, John won’t be the one to ruin things, this time. 

Soon, John realizes they are heading towards the nearest town. He glances at Arthur to see if he deems it time to explain his plan to John but he just keeps staring ahead. So John sighs and keeps quiet, trusting Arthur to know what he is doing. 

They ride into town and Arthur tells him they will hitch their horses in front of the saloon, where they are to meet a man who will give them information on some stagecoach they are to rob. 

John can’t say he is happy to follow orders blindly but he supposes he could be doing worse things than spending some time drinking while waiting for someone. He might even overcome the awkwardness of being around Arthur after a drink or two and start enjoying his company. 

John instinctually goes for the counter but Arthur stops him and points to one of the tables and signals for him to sit while he goes to get them drinks. John won’t turn down free whisky, so he just nods and does as he is told. 

Arthur sits down with a bottle and two glasses in hand and John wants to ask about the feller they are supposed to be meeting but decides that if Arthur wants him to know something, he will say it. 

They drink in silence and John keeps scanning the room for anything suspicious. 

“Calm down,” Arthur drawls, relaxed. “I thought I told you not to worry.” 

John looks at him, curious. 

“You’re almost _too_ calm. Forgetting we are working?” 

Arthur reclines in his chair, stretching his legs under the table until he accidently bumps into John, which startles the younger man causing him to jump and Arthur to laugh. 

“You are wound tighter than an idiot's watch.” he cackles like the villain that he is. 

“Shut up, Morgan.” John replies, embarrassed but chuckling along. 

Arthur nudges him with the foot he still hasn’t retracted. 

“Got you to laugh at least.” 

Now John knows he is blushing. He can’t help it. He hasn’t experienced Arthur undivided attention in many years and, now, the man is touching and teasing him like they never stopped being friends. 

“Yeah, you’re a real clown. Should join the circus next time they’re in town.” 

“I’ll keep an eye out.” Arthur concedes, nodding. “You know, in case my current job falls through.” 

The remark reminds John of the reason they are there in the first place but he finds he doesn’t want to call Arthur’s attention to that just yet. 

Instead he drinks his whisky and keeps ribbing Arthur on his talents as a buffoon. 

They end up staying until well into the afternoon, though they stopped drinking a while ago, judging it was wiser to stay clear-headed if they were going to ride back without breaking their necks. 

Finally, Arthur concedes that the feller from the job isn’t going to show up and they decide to leave town to camp in the woods just outside its limits. 

The situation is painfully familiar to John, something they’d done a dozen times. And he can feel that agitation in his belly again. 

When they set camp after hitching their horses close by, John tries to give up the tent saying he prefers sleeping under the sky. 

Arthur just huffs at him and says they will share, telling him to stop being stupid. They make a fire and heat up some canned food for them both. By the time they are done eating, it is already late enough to go to bed. John waits to see what Arthur is going to do. 

“Come on, get in before I knock some sense into you.” He says when he sees John hesitating. So John follows him inside. 

It is not spacious inside the tent but there’s just enough room for them to lay on their backs next to each other, without having to touch. 

Arthur is asleep quickly and John lets his soft breathing lull him to sleep. 

* * *

He wakes up sometime later with a start. Situating himself, John notices he is lying on his side and he can feel Arthur’s body tucked right behind him, can feel the other breathing on his neck. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and a shiver runs through his spine. Embarrassed, he goes to move away slowly but one of Arthur’s hands moves up to hold him still by the hip. He startles upon realizing Arthur is awake. 

“John,” Arthur says tentatively, in a voice rough with sleep. “You awake?” 

John can feel a growing tension in the air inside of the flimsy tent, but he doesn’t know if it is just the usual strain inside of him that is finally pouring out to fill the space around him as well, or if something else is going on. 

He is not exactly a good liar and he never will be half as cunning as Hosea tried to teach him to be, but he has some experience with keeping secrets, so he manages to keep his little turmoil out of his voice long enough to reply. 

“Sure, Arthur, I’m up now that you’re _poking_ me.” 

That is not entirely truthful, since the other man isn’t actually poking him, but John doesn’t know how else to classify the way Arthur’s fingers are still pressing on his skin thought the fabric of his underclothes. 

Surprisingly, Arthur doesn’t rise to the bait. He just ignores the comment and clears his throat in a nervous way that, in turn, makes John anxious as well. He wants to turn around in hopes that seeing Arthurs face will help him understand what is happening, but at the same time, he is afraid of finding out. 

“Can I try something?” Arthur asks and gives his hip a squeeze. 

John’s heart is beating so fast he is sure Arthur can feel it. He is confused, scared and terribly hopeful. He is a fool but the one thing that he knows for sure is that he doesn’t want to say no to Arthur. So, he nods, feeling the rough material of his bedroll scratch against his cheek. 

Arthur lets out a breath and John has a dazed moment of perplexity when he realizes Arthur must have been afraid John would say no. He forgets about that when Arthur pulls him impossibly close and buries his face in the space between John’s neck and his shoulder, breathing him in. He feels his toes curling in his socks and clamps his teeth against the pleased noises trying to get out. 

He doesn’t understand why this is happening but he will do anything to keep it from stopping, and he is afraid any sound he makes will break the spell. 

Arthur starts kissing his skin with an open mouth and John can’t stop his body from chasing the feeling and soon he is moving backwards against the other man and Arthur’s hand clutches his hip appreciatively. 

“Tell me to stop.” Arthur breathes next to his ear and John can’t even consider why he would do such a thing before he feels the hand on his hip moving to the front of his body and then Arthur is squeezing him softly between the legs. John mouth falls open and he forgets to stop the noises, but Arthur doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps massaging him through his union suit and making encouraging noises against his ear. 

“Please,” John gasps though he doesn’t know what he is begging for. Either for Arthur to never stop this or to give him something more, he is not sure. 

However, Arthur stops and John chastises himself for saying too much, closes his eyes against the disappointment. But Arthur doesn’t let him suffer long, just pushes at the younger man’s shoulder until he is lying on his back. John looks up and sees how the other man’s pupils are blown wide and how hungry he looks for John. “Jesus.” he mutters. 

Arthur laughs at that, some of the nervousness broken, and John reaches a hand up in a daze to touch his mouth. 

John has had fumbling encounters in the dark with strangers that were just as desperate as he was, but nothing has ever felt like what he is experiencing now, nothing as wonderful and terrifying. He wants so much, he can’t even put it in words. 

But Arthur must understand somehow, because he ducks down to kiss him on the mouth. And John doesn’t have much experience with this part, but he finds it easy to follow when Arthur takes the lead so easily. He kisses him deep and thorough, has John panting again in no time and when he starts trailing wet kisses down his neck again, John lifts his hips a little seeking any pressure he can find. Arthur, noticing this, presses down to meet him and John groans at the feeling of their bodies working together. 

He can feel that Arthur is just as hard as he is and to John that is equal parts amazing and impossible, so he reaches down to feel him with his own hand and that has Arthur gasping and biting his shoulder hard enough to make him hiss at the sting. 

“Get this off.” he orders pulling at Arthur’s clothes. If this is some one-time thing that fate is granting him, he decides feverishly to make the best of it. 

It is a testament to how far gone the man is that Arthur doesn’t bristle at the comment, simply pulls back to start working at the buttons of his union suit, so John sits up and starts doing the same. He is used to have this kind of thing done in a hurry so he doesn’t waste time undoing the buttons until his attire hangs loose from his waist uncovering his torso. He starts squirming out of the rest of it to release his legs when he looks at Arthur and sees him unbuttoning slowly, too caught up in watching John to move any faster. 

John feels himself blush, simultaneously aroused and self-conscious. But he finishes pulling his underclothes away and lays back for Arthur to admire him if he so wishes. 

The other man leaves his own clothes half undone and leans close to get his hands on John. Slides both hands up and down John’s chest before resting them on both sides of his hip. 

“You have _no idea_.” he says in a tone that is so starved, it sounds wounded. 

Embarrassingly, John feels close to the edge just from the way Arthur is touching and praising him. 

“Come on,” he mutters pulling Arthur to lay on top of him, cradling his body between his legs. He takes advantage of the position the pull at Arthur’s clothes until he is unveiled from the thighs up. 

They find a rhythm, rocking against each other until they are gasping between kisses and start making a wet mess between their bodies that only helps speed their movements. 

John has trouble admitting this even to himself, but he has imagined this moment a few times before, especially after having too many drinks and feeling too much loneliness. However, as he is admitting it now, he will allow that he’s had some expectations of what Arthur would be like. 

He finds he is both right and wrong in those flitting speculations. He never would have imagined being kissed so deeply and held so closely, but he sure fantasized about Arthur’s intensity and strength and, as Arthur grips his hair and bites his neck, growling things like “That’s good, John, that’s so good, don’t stop.” John feels rewarded in his wanting. 

Sooner than he would like but still unavoidable, John begins to feel the tell-tale burning building up in his belly and between his legs and his breathing becomes even more erratic. 

“Arthur, Arthur...” he gasps, grabbing at Arthur as tightly as he can, trying to mark him as much as he is being branded by Arthur’s searing touch. 

Arthur groans and grabs John by the legs, spreading them wider and moving closer and faster. Soon, John can’t make any sort of sound other than high breathless sighs until he is spilling all over himself, and Arthur keeps going for few more thrusts, sliding along the mess John just made before adding to it with his own release. 

A beat of silence passes while they catch their breaths and then suddenly, John is laughing. Arthur looks at him, a little dazed but once John starts he can’t seem to stop, shaking with it. 

“Whatchu laughing at?” 

John just covers his mouth and shakes some more. Arthur, apparently too spent to enquire any further, just chuckles and lies down next to him. 

“Come here,” Arthur pulls him close, folding himself around the shaking form of the other man and pulls a blanket over both of them. 

Gradually, John calms down. He feels tears in his eyes and he is still shaking a little and doesn’t know if it is all from laughing to much or if he is finally losing his mind. But Arthur shushes him softly and John lets himself be comforted back to sleep. 

* * *

He wakes up alone in the tent and the only reason he doesn’t panic is because, at first, his sleepy brain thinks last night was just dream. Wouldn’t exactly be the first the first time. 

But then he moves a little and realizes he slept naked and he knows he never does that, especially not while camping out in the open. 

He hears sounds outside of the tent and pulls on his clothes in a hurry. Once dressed, he steps out warily and sees Arthur boiling something by the fire. He is sitting on an oblong shaped rock, with all of his clothes on, including his worn hat. Arthur looks up, nods in a friendly enough manner and looks down at the pan again but the brim of his hat can’t hide his smirk. 

John smiles himself and sits down next to him on the ground with his back to the rock 

He nudges Arthur with his shoulder. 

“So, what are we gonna do now?” 

“Well... We obviously overslept and missed the sunrise,” he points at the sun with his chin while stirring the pan. “So I’m out of ideas. Why don’t you contribute a little for once?” 

“Aw, hell, Arthur. Are you implying you’ve been romancing me every time you took me to see the sunrise?” John ribs him. 

“No.” Arthur scoffs after too long of a pause. 

“Jesus, Arthur, even when I was a kid?” he laughs. 

“No!” This time he answers quick and indignant, pushing John away, who falls on his side, still laughing. “Goddam you, John. It will be a cold day in hell when I do anything nice for you again.” 

John recovers and pushes him back, which nearly causes the pan to tip over. Arthur squawks in surprise, losing his balance on the rock and they both topple to the ground, knocking Arthur’s hat off. 

After a brief grapple, Arthur pushes John away and gets up in a huff, making sure their breakfast is secure. 

He sits back down, putting his hat back on and gives John a pointed look that says _Try again at your own risk, boy_. John raises his hands in a placating manner from his spot on the ground. 

Arthur seeming pacified, goes back to his task. 

John waits a beat and then asks something else. 

“Was there even a stagecoach to begin with?” 

He sees the side of Arthur’s face that is visible to him reddening. 

“Damn you, Marston, do you ever shut up?” He mutters without looking. 

Knowing when not to poke the bear, John holds his tongue and scooches closer, pressing his shoulder against Arthur again, who seems too embarrassed to protest. Sensing a truce, John relaxes against the other man, hugging his own knees to his chest and letting his forehead rest on them. 

In the moment of quietness, John contemplates the latest turn of events in his life. 

Regardless of how much Arthur seems to make a mess of John’s brains on the best of days, John knows him well enough to not expect a heart-to-heart that will put at peace his convoluted feelings. He is well aware that, what transpired between them isn’t a magical fix for his troubles. Last night when he went to sleep, he had a whole world of problems to deal with and, this morning, they are still out there waiting for him to face them or to run away, whatever he chooses. 

John just hopes he can be strong enough to make the right decisions. 

He feels a hand falling down to rest on the back of his neck and feels the heat seeping through him, warming him up with a gentle squeeze. 

John smiles at the familiar feeling of his stomach fluttering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this story was quite the experience. It is, maybe, kind of short, but being my first time writing fanfic in more than 10 years and my first time writing in a language that is not my mother tongue, I thought it was best to start small lol  
> But I really enjoyed it and I feel very inspired to write more for this fandom (especially since I'm still not over my rdr feelings) and for others as well (if you like mcu stay tuned!).
> 
>  So, I'm really grateful for the support from everyone who gave kudos and commented. Honestly the best part of all of this is interacting with you guys in the comments, so thank you!
> 
> Like I said, this story is a lot of firsts for me, and I'd never written smut before so I hope it wasn't too awkward lol I initially wasn't going to include that part but I couldn't see Arthur and John having a normal conversation about their emotions. I felt like any culmination of feelings would have to come through something physical, because the boys are better with showing their emotions through actions than talking about them (like pls just look at them being tongue tied at the top of that mountain in the end of ch 6, Arthur not knowing how to say goodbye and John not knowing how to say thank you), which is why they also don't talk about what happened the morning after, and still there's a mutual understanding of something good having been forged between them.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this :)

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, please leave kudos! That way I can know if I'm doing it right :) also, feel free to comment, I love discussing your thoughts!


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